The Magnolia Sword Page 10

  He urges his horse forward. The rest of the company follows suit.

  “Where are we?” Kedan asks, almost as if speaking to himself.

  “About thirty li south of the Wall,” answers Captain Helou, from ahead.

  So we haven’t stumbled upon some earthly paradise far removed from the current strife. Quite the opposite: Should the Rouran swarm past our defenses, this beautiful grassland will be one of the first places they’ll trample underfoot.

  I ride on, trying not to think of anything at all.

  At dusk we reach our destination, a large border garrison commanded by a man who once served under the princeling’s father.

  A chain of mountains looms north of the grassy plain, a natural barrier. But obviously that wasn’t considered enough protection against invaders, as the Wall snakes across the foothills of this range. And the garrison, squat and foursquare, built of stone and mud bricks on an abrupt rise, oversees this stretch of the Wall.

  The commander, excited to welcome the princeling, takes him aside for a private chat. The rest of us are shown into a barrack room.

  Yu assigns everyone tasks. After four days in the saddle, my entire body aches. But no one else seems worn out. I grit my teeth, help Yu beat comforters and blankets, then crawl alongside Kedan to examine the sleeping platform inch by inch for fleas—all while drowning in my own thoughts.

  I am useless. I am hopeless. I have humiliated myself beyond redemption. I am not worthy of Heart Sea and I have wasted all the years Father has spent on me.

  Is it because I’m a girl? Is it because of some innate weakness that despite all my training, I turned into a block of wood when I most needed to bring that training to bear?

  At dinner, the princeling and Captain Helou are seated with the commander. I plow through my food and, with Yu’s permission, leave the canteen while everyone else is still eating. When I’ve had a spell of privacy at the facilities, I go back to the barracks and sit in the dark, barely able to understand everything that’s happened since I first passed through the gates of the capital.

  I arrived at the royal duke’s residence feeling as pleased as was possible under the circumstances. Not only had I done my duty to my family, but I’d extricated myself from the encampment and entered the service of an important scion. It seemed highly reasonable to assume that I would return home in safety and honor at the end of the war.

  The naïve girl I was two days ago would have been dismayed and flabbergasted to learn that in so little time she would find herself on the northern border. Yet I barely care about my precarious location: Not only can I no longer trust my father, I cannot even trust myself.

  I prized the strength, agility, and power that resulted from my training. I treasured the thought that I would never be at the mercy of any man. That I needed no father or brother to shield me. That I was my own shield.

  I am my own very, very shoddy shield, which cracked as soon as it was struck.

  The sound I make is that of an injured animal, cowering in the dark.

  My companions return. They fall silent outside the door and whisper about the unlit interior.

  “I’m not asleep,” I am obliged to call out. “And the lamps are right here.”

  Two lamps flare to life, illuminating my companions—everyone but the princeling, who has been given a separate room. It’s the first time since the bandit fight that we are thrown together without some other task at hand, not even a duty as undemanding as eating. Tuxi and Kedan look both concerned and sheepish. Captain Helou appears embarrassed. Bai seems more suspicious than anything else, and Yu’s face is, as usual, completely opaque.

  I wish the lamps would go out and darkness would swallow me again. What do I say to a group of men who have witnessed my utter incompetence?

  “Everybody ate well?” I might as well fall back on platitudes.

  “You left too early, Hua xiong-di,” Kedan tells me. “His Highness sent dishes from his table to ours. Our group is now the envy of the entire garrison.”

  “I think that was his way of telling the commander that he shouldn’t have assigned us a barrack room that we needed to clean ourselves,” says Tuxi. “Some commanders are like that. He probably thought that since he gave His Highness nice quarters of his own, His Highness wouldn’t care what happens to the men he brought.”

  “Careful what you say about a commander in his own garrison, Tuxi xiong-di—sometimes walls have ears,” cautions Yu.

  Tuxi’s eyes widen in surprise at the warning, but he inclines his head. “Master Yu is right and I thank him. I have been too free with my tongue.”

  Yu nods in return. “Tomorrow a messenger heads south from the fort. If any of you wish to send letters home, this is the time. Make sure, however, that you do not mention where you are, who you are with, or what you are going to do.”

  I rub my throbbing temples. A letter.

  Dear Father, all was well on my grand adventure as a male conscript until I met the last member of the Peng family—the woman whom you scorned, and whose sister you later killed, for reasons that may or may not be nefarious. Things took a sharp turn for the worse when I discovered that I am no asset to anyone in a fight, not even to myself. I wish I could fly home and ask you face-to-face why you never told me the truth. But I am a thousand li away and can only founder in doubt and unhappiness.

  Tuxi climbs onto the sleeping platform next to me and sets a low table before himself. From his bag he removes a carefully wrapped package, which contains paper, a brush pen, an ink stick, and a small ink stone: the four treasures of the study, as he mentioned last night.

  He pours a few drops of water into the depression on the ink stone, then grinds the ink stick against the stone in a gentle, circular motion. At the other end of the platform, Bai sits cross-legged, mending a pair of trousers. The room is quiet, except for Kedan dictating a letter to Captain Helou. From time to time, Tuxi glances at Kedan, as if wishing he could be the one writing Kedan’s letter.

  I spread open a piece of paper myself, but I only stare at it, no words coming to mind. Or perhaps too many words coming to mind, but none that can be set down in a respectful missive to one’s parent.

  “Hua xiong-di, do you want to use my pen and ink?” asks Tuxi. “I’m already done.”

  I glance up and can’t believe my eyes: He writes a remarkably lovely script, each stroke perfectly controlled. I stare at his giant hands, then at the tiny, immaculate characters—and close my mouth when I realize that I’m agape. “Exceptional penmanship.”

  “Thank you.” He grins, exposing a small gap between his front teeth. “I was beaten a lot until I wrote better.”

  At least his handwriting is indisputably superb. What do I have to show for all my aches and bruises?

  I grind ink for myself, dip in Tuxi’s brush pen, and hesitate some more, staring at the paper.

  Esteemed Father,

  Your humble son sends heartfelt greetings and begs your indulgence for being so far away, when he should be faithfully attending to your needs at home.

  I almost write daughter but catch myself.

  I have traveled much in the past few days. The soldiers have been kindly and helpful. I have been given decent food and a better horse. One might say I need and want for nothing.

  Except the truth from your own lips, Father. And for me to be a different person altogether, one who isn’t immobilized by the least hint of danger.

  Greetings also to my virtuous brother, Murong, to venerable Auntie Xia, and to much-respected Dabao. May every day bring you blessings and good fortune.

  In kneeling supplication,

  Mulan

  Leaving the letter to dry, Tuxi and I go outside with a scoop of water to wash his brush pen and ink stone. We’re shaking everything out when he says, “Hua xiong-di, don’t be too concerned.”

  At the kindness of his voice, tears rush into my eyes. I blink them away. “It’s difficult not to be concerned.”

  “His Highness told m
e you’ve never been in a battle—or even in danger. Let me tell you, Hua xiong-di, the first time is unpredictable. Some throw themselves into it. Others don’t react as well. My father has seen grown men soil themselves on battlefields before the fighting even started.”

  At the mention of the princeling, my face burns. I could handle the other men thinking me a burden if only he hadn’t also witnessed my utter ineptitude. “So that my trousers remained clean is a point in my favor?”

  “Yes, I’d say so,” Tuxi answers with great sincerity. “Tomorrow we rest here at the garrison. If you want, we can train you as if it’s real combat. You just need to get used to it.”

  I doubt that any training will help; actual danger cannot be simulated. “Your kindness I will never forget, Tuxi xiong.”

  He nudges me with his shoulder. “Eh, don’t be so formal. We look out for one another.”

  I sigh. “Then I hope someday to look out for you too.”

  “Hua xiong-di, have mercy!” shouts Kedan, laughing.

  I stop. The four soldiers who have been recruited by Tuxi and Kedan to attack me cling to their poles to catch their breath. I wipe a sleeve across my forehead, but despite the bright sunshine, it’s fiercely cold in the fort’s bailey and I’ve barely broken a sweat.

  “Hua xiong-di is exceptionally accomplished with a pole,” says Tuxi, trying not to sound surprised and not succeeding.

  I wasn’t altogether correct about the usefulness of the training: I do benefit from practice against multiple attackers. We started with two, quickly progressed to three, and soon after added a fourth. Everyone chose poles—spear shafts without the metal points attached—because in war one is more likely to encounter longer weapons.

  As I picked up a spear shaft and tested its weight and balance, almost without thinking, I took a two-handed stance. And that’s when I became angry at myself.

  I lack experience with spears, but in my panic yesterday, I completely forgot that I am well acquainted with poles. Before you can beat others, you must learn how to get beaten is a fundamental tenet of martial arts. And a pole is a good weapon for learning that, as it usually leaves a novice with nothing worse than bruises. Much of my footwork training took place while fighting with poles. And although I haven’t used one in years, all my old skills are still here.

  I could have handled the bamboo spear as a pole and I would have been all right. I could have yanked out Heart Sea and decapitated the sharp points from the bandits’ bamboo spears. I could have taken out a few eyes with hidden weapons and ensured that no one came near me again.

  So many things I could have done, and I did none of them. I only flailed like a tortoise set upside down.

  That frustration makes me fight with a seething intensity today, my pole a blur of wide slashes and fast jabs. I’ve hit each of the soldiers multiple times in the arms and calves, with two struck directly in the chest—I had to pull back on the forcefulness of my moves at the last second to avoid breaking their ribs. Instead of the soldiers intimidating me, they are the ones bent over panting, probably hoping that I am done with them.

  “You could take on Captain Helou, Hua xiong-di,” says Kedan softly, shaking his head.

  As if conjured by those words, Captain Helou rides through the fort’s gate with the garrison commander—and the princeling. At the sight of him, my face once again blisters with humiliation. He dismounts and climbs up to the gallery that overhangs three sides of the bailey. By all appearances he never glances in my direction, but my mortification refuses to fade.

  Kedan runs off to greet Captain Helou, sparing me the necessity of responding to his compliment. He can probably give no higher praise than to compare me to his hero, but I don’t want it.

  I only wish I could go back in time and acquit myself passably the day before.

  To have never become someone I need to be ashamed of.

  After the midday meal, a number of soldiers leave the fort to work in fields that have been cleared in the grassland. Others herd sheep out to graze. Their commander is aiming for a certain level of self-sufficiency, possibly as a result of an imperial directive—and maybe also a more varied diet for his men.

  When my own company rides out for exercise, I see that still more soldiers are walking around scanning the ground, occasionally bending down to pick something up.

  “What are they collecting?” I ask Kedan.

  His brows waggle. “Droppings.”

  “To fertilize the fields?”

  Manure plays a greater role in Northern agriculture; in the South, farmers raise fish in their paddy fields, and fish excreta usually suffice as fertilizer.

  “For fuel, I’d say.” Kedan grins. “Wasn’t our sleeping platform nice and toasty last night?”

  “It was,” I say slowly.

  I awoke when the barrack room was still near pitch-dark, everyone else sound asleep. Something jolted through me when I realized that the man on my left was the princeling, lying with his back to me. What was he doing, sharing our bed? Hadn’t he been given his own quarters?

  I got up and tiptoed out—I’ve been rising before the men to secure a little privacy. At the door, however, I whipped around, an instinctive reaction to the weight of another person’s attention. But only stillness and somnolence greeted me.

  “An enviable life, isn’t it?” Kedan says, yanking me back to the present. He makes a sweeping gesture with his riding crop, encompassing the wide-open grassland ringed by hazy blue mountains. “Almost, that is.”

  “Almost,” I reply—if one doesn’t consider the inherent danger of being on the front line in turbulent times. I nod toward the soldiers in the field. “Aren’t we at war? Don’t they worry that the crops they’re planting might never see a harvest?”

  “Well, according to Captain Helou, the Wall is in excellent repair—it isn’t that easy for enemies to swarm over. Not to mention, of the two large-scale Rouran attacks that have taken place recently, one was about fifteen hundred li east of here, and the other a thousand li west. This may be the safest spot on the entire frontier.”

  With Captain Helou and Kedan as tutors, our group trains in equestrian skills. Being back in the saddle exacerbates my muscle aches, but I don’t mind the discomfort. I am as competent here as I was earlier in the bailey of the fort: Whether urging my horse into various leaps or deploying bow and arrow while galloping, I do well and bring no shame upon myself.

  Which, of course, makes me want to howl with frustration. Why couldn’t I have fought properly when it counted?

  “Let’s go see the Wall and the beacon tower,” proposes Kedan at the end of the session.

  Everyone agrees, even Captain Helou, who already inspected the defensive works this morning.

  Some big forts are built right up against the Wall itself, especially if they are guarding important passes. Here, however, the Wall traipses over hills too steep for any sizable edifice, and the fort is located one li south.

  We approach on a well-maintained path. The Wall, up close, is grander than I imagined—almost twice my height, all solid brick and stone. We climb a flight of access steps to reach the top, which is the width of two of my wingspans and as well paved as an imperial road.

  Crenellations inset with observation ports and firing holes face north. On the south-facing side, no such defensive measures exist—only a waist-high parapet to prevent soldiers from falling off. Captain Helou calls our attention to the drainage ports, which pour out only on the friendly side: Any plant growth to the north might give cover to incoming enemies.

  The nearest beacon tower also sits apart from the Wall: It is located on an outcrop a few paces to the south, surrounded by its own defensive walls—almost like a miniature fort. Within the walls are barracks for a small unit of men, a kitchen, and a stable. The tower itself, about four times as high as the walls around it, is rectangular at the base and narrows gradually toward the top. Inside the tower, which houses a storage room with large water drums, we climb up on rope ladde
rs, another defensive measure: Should enemies overrun the tiny courtyard below, soldiers on the top can pull up the ladders and hold out for reinforcements.

  And reinforcements, of course, would be summoned with fires at night and columns of smoke during the day—I’ve heard it called “wolf smoke.” Beacon towers are roughly ten li apart, and news of an invasion would travel along the length of the Wall at breakneck speed.

  The rope ladders take us up to a crenellated platform. From the ground, the Wall impresses with its height and bulk. But from the top of the beacon tower, seeing the well-built, well-manned barrier snake across a line of hills stretching east and west, knowing that it continues beyond the limits of my sight, east to the sea and west to the edges of the legendary Takla Makan Desert, more than ten thousand li in total length—I can only shake my head at its utter scale and magnificence.

  And yet …

  I know from my reading that during the Han Dynasty, the Xiongnu broke through the Wall multiple times—either by finding a section in disrepair or by simply taking control of one of the main gates. And even before a comprehensive wall was built against the …

  I find that I have trouble using the word barbarians, as the Xianbei I’ve met so far are no more barbarian than anyone else I’ve ever known.

  Well, then, long before a comprehensive wall was built against the nomadic tribes, substantial stretches of lesser walls already existed, erected by the Warring States to keep out one another’s invading armies. And none of them prevented the first emperor of Qin from conquering those states on his path to unification.

  “You guarded the Wall for a while, didn’t you, on a beacon tower?” Kedan asks Captain Helou.

  “I did. Not too far from here. The commander I served under is still there, last I heard.”

  “How was it?”

  “Tough. Tedious. And surprisingly hot in summer, for all that it freezes your stones off the rest of the year.”